One Day More
by aphfanmadefangirl
Summary: England isn't quite as happy as he seems. All is not well, and Kirkland has self-harming thoughts. But what happens when Alfred and Francis find out the hard way what he was doing all along? A mysterious walk in a strange hallway will reveal more than th.


**Arthur**

Arthur Kirkland looked through the hall of pictures and mirrors, looking himself over. How much he had changed over the years... All the way from paintings of a little boy with rabbit ears (his first magic spell hadn't ended so very well) that was scowling; to a preteen with messy hair and a messy tunic on who was scowling; to a teenager who seemed empty and lost, wearing a scowl; to a young man on a throne, wearing a pirate's outfit and a scowl; to a slightly older young man next to Francis and a very young Alfred, adorning a ginormous belly and a pained scowl; to one with a young baby Matthew in his arms and Alfred attached to his leg, Francis nowhere in sight and an exhausted scowl on his lips again. Then the first photographs of him. A strapping young man, but seemingly empty and without purpose, a sad-ish scowl about his features; one with him, Matthew, and Alfred, all of them scowling; And, of course, him with the Beatles, a serious scowl on his lips, though the glint in his eyes gave the happiness away. Later photographs, then, like Punk Iggy, standing there, playing his guitar and scowling; A less rebellious England with his suit and tie, next to Yao, scowling; and the last, latest image in the hall. A large frame with a lot of smaller pictures of him and Alfred. Only a fourth of them were scowling, a fourth were kissing, another fourth of him, Alfred, and Peter, their son- from maternity to the day he was born to when he ran away when he was twelve to Sweden and Finland- and in the rest his face was hidden, damaged, or not very well seen because Kiku had taken it while they were "alone". He blushed at the more steamy ones, but Alfred had insisted they be hung up, since this was a closed off Hallway that was only used for remembering the good and horrible times. He stopped at the first painting, of a baby Arthur and two people. The people's faces were burned away from the fire that had caused them to perish and caused him to be adopted by the Bishop. He cried every time he saw the painting, but not today. He went to the next one; the boy with the rabbit ears. His face was adorable, his green cloak wrapped around him in what Arthur remembered was the bitter cold of fall. He kept moving until he saw the painting with Francis and Alfred touching his swollen stomach; France holding him from behind and Alfred putting his tiny hands to it to ask why Arthur had consumed the child. He smiled as the memory played back.

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

_"Tho you eat it tho it can be awife?" The big blue eyes searched the man for an answer, touching his stomach, which had grown to the same size of the child.  
>"Yes," Arthur had answered hesitantly. Francis kissed the Englishman's head, making himself known before slipping his arms around thim and placing his hands over the child's.<br>"Ohonhonhon, Angelterre, you are so cute~! We should have more children if you look like this every time~!" The Briton scoffed at the idea.  
>"NO! This is the last one! I'm not popping any others out any time soon!" They both knew this would turn into a screaming match after the child went to bed. For now, though, they enjoyed the feel of eachother's arms and Arthur gently placed his hands over The Frenchman's, sighing and fighting the pain for the moment...<em>

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

The man pulled himself from the thought. Sure, the condition he was born with was odd. Having both reproductive organs could be extremely painful, but most nations had the same problem, which was an adaptation they had from evolving from most nations being men, with only eight females and mostly gay nations. It was also painful to realize that the child he'd adopted had fallen for him. The fact that they lived forever, as did all nations, was enough to handle, but the fact that most had no relations made it almost unbearably difficult to find out you had so many options, and yet so little compared to everyone else. It had become illegal to have romantic relations of any kind with humans, as nations lived forever and humans barely ever lived a nation year, which was 100 years to them. Since a nation stopped aging at a certain given age, which is different for each nation, it was hard to tell who was who's elder as well. However, everyone knew that Yao, China, was the oldest of all, and nobody dared disrespect him, Kiku (Who was Japan.) was second, and rumor had it Ivan (who was Russia.) was third oldest. Ivan's respect came completely from being so severely feared that people occasionally feared looking at him, afraid he may take it the wrong way if they looked too long and end up with a water spigot-with a pipe attached for handling as a weapon- driven through their skulls. Unfortunately, also, nations didn't die unless anarchy was set in their country, which was why there weren't many nations. Of over a hundred countries, there were only forty-four nations, including three micro-nations; Sealand, who also happened to be Peter, and his friends Seborga and Wy. He looked at other pictures, coming across one of him and Yao and their broken family. Yao was the mother in that relationship, and they had given birth to a beautiful young man. He refused to have a name, lest he adapt one of their last names, but his original name had been Fai, for a new beginning, a new chapter in Arthur's life, which he had hoped would last forever. However, he simply went by Hong Kong, and occasionally allowed his parents to call him Hong, which was a nickname Im Young Soo (Southern Korea) had given him. He remembered splitting up with Yao and how he had gotten his son for two centuries. Hong never said anything about those days unless he was claiming the two worst years of his life. This was unfortunate because the only problem the man had ever had was meals, since Arthur couldn't cook. He remembered the dreadful time of day where he needed to make food and sighed.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

_"Must I eat this?" Fai asked. The young brunette looked at his blonde father with the same blank stare as always, his thick brows (wich he had inherited from the Englishman) furrowing in disgust.  
>"I'd like to see you do better." Was always the answer, and Fai always succeeded in doing just that. He always made some food England had never seen before and they ate whatever he cooked. It was embarrassing, yes, but would have to do. England sighed and ate the dumplings given to him silently.<em>

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Arthur had to shake himself from his thoughts again. Why he kept thinking about those things,he'd never know. He looked at the painting that held one of the only relationships that hadn't ended in childbirth, a fight, and heartbreak. Spain had also been a carefree pirate at one point, making him completely perfect. Their crews joined and they were an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. It had all ended with the end of their rein of terror, but it wasn't a sad ending. Just a bored one, and a good one. All they had ever done was play games and mess around in the dark, but it ended quickly enough for attachment to be stupid, so it was a quick and even break that ended their pirate days with a short, chaste kiss and a few visits to a bar together. They were now close friends that enjoyed reminiscing on those days, as old friends do. But Antonio and him barely spoke now that WWII had ended. As a matter of fact, Arthur barely spoke to anyone other than customers at the gay bar in which he was the favorite waiter, yelling at meetings, one nightstands with other nations, and his publishing and editing team on the occasions when he pressed out a new book in a matter of hours because of boredom or loneliness. In other words, his almost sociophobia came in handy on occasion, because he had wads of money just laying around among his countless piles of books, which he would still have stacks of if his walls were covered in bookshelves, which, conveniently, they were. And he had a library ladder for getting books higher up. A few times he thought of getting a library made in his countless acres of land so the books were out of his way, but then he'd remember that he'd have extra walking to do in humid summer heat and extra air conditioning bills, so he thought of opening a book rental shop, which was an even worse idea because countless people could possibly put their grubby hands all over his precious books, which was an unbearable thought because of his germophobia. People joked that he had far too many phobias, but he always shot back snidely that phobias were a body's way of keeping you safe, like his anuptaphobia kept him from being alone in dangerous situations, his colourophobia kept evil clowns away ("But honestly, who wasn't weirded out by those damned freaks?" He'd reassure himself whilst reading the bible.) He kept looking around and tearfully stopped in front of the last photograph, staring back at his scowl. By his sides were Francis and Alfred. He hit the ground, crying, and looked at them, Alfred's pout as France tried to pull at one side of Arthur's face to make him smile. All Alfred did was stand and look away, telling France to leave him alone. He continued crying, thinking about how dirty he felt, making them both hold onto him. Sometimes, when Arthur wrote, he would write himself into the sadder stories where the main character, who he would think of as himself without notice, would end up dying or killing themselves. Francis and Alfred were too thickheaded to realize his doing, and so were his readers, so he was safe for now. He stood, drying his eyes, and started for the bathroom for a shower. It wouldn't matter how much he bled because he wouldn't die. Also, he thought, even anarchy doesn't really kill a nation. Just weaken them into a state of mortality. This reasoning was true, but he knew Alfred and Francis would be severely angered if they knew he tried to hurt himself or if someone hurt him. Alfred, being the idiot he was, would even go up against Ivan to help, even though Ivan was twice everyone's size and weight. Arthur sighed and cussed under his breath, stepping in front of the last mirror and looking at himself one last time. He felt sick looking at himself, angry at himself for all those failed relationships and all the pain he put every one of his past lovers through. Without thinking, arthur lunged and punched the mirror, glass shattering everywhere, some going into his head, in his arms, into his hands, and one in his leg. The rest of the bloodied shards fell to the newly died carpet as he stumbled out and left a blood trail to the bathroom. He would have to be more careful now, because nations can fall into comas with what would usually kill a human. Luckily, he was fine this time. Sighing, he picked out the shards of mirror and turned on the shower. He needed to think of an excuse to these injuries. "I fell in the hall" would work, but Yao was starting to see through his lies. He discarded his bloodied clothing on the floor, stepping into the shower. The pain of cold water rushing into his wounds would have put him through hell, had he not been so used to getting hurt every hour by his own clumsiness. He washed himself quickly, knowing he was late for his usual schedule, and bandaged himself after getting dried. When he fixed his hair and put on his usual uniform, his wounds seemed to disappear. He didn't see a scratch, and if his lack of sleep lately didn't make him fall asleep during the meeting, then nobody would notice. He ran downstairs, grabbing his work books, his briefcase, his car keys, and a scone, and left.

**Alfred**

I stare myself down in the mirror, getting dressed. Hopefully, I was wearing enough cologne that nobody would notice that I had woken up too late to shower. I slick my hair down, my ahoge sticking out again, as always. Then I stare at the sensitive spot, wishing there was a way to get rid of it. I sigh and put on my favorite bomber jacket, resolving to buy a ton of hamburgers for breakfast again. At least a dozen... I heroically calculate, thinking about my usual being at least a hundred throughout the meeting and deciding to cut back to look good.

"Gotta impress Iggy." I smile, making my favorite happy face. Iggy is what I call Arthur, much to his displeasure. Arthur hates that petname, but it's better than France's. I shrug and head out, smiling and grabbing my briefcase. I am ready to face a new day.

**France**

I woke up and looked next to me. Yet another nation that isn't as beautiful as Angelterre (Arthur) at all. I stood and took a shower, on time as always. I fought over what outfit to wear, and settled on my blue top, with a cloak, and red silk pants, with polished chocolate colored boots with caramel tops. After putting it on, I went down the stairs and picked a crimson rose from his centerpiece, grabbing his case and the keys to his smooth sportscar.

**All Together**

"I hate parking!" England and France cried in unison. America sighed and stopped running. He had started running or taking a bike to work since he needed to lose weight, as well as going to a gym to work on his muscles to look better for the small Englishman's affection. If he got strong enough, maybe Arthur would like him. France stepped out of his sleek black Lamborghini and opened England's door for him, watching the messy haired blonde come out and kissing his hand. The trio met up next to eachother in front of the door like a gang, all standing close and holding hands like the triangle they were. England kissed them both on the cheek, blushing and walking ahead of them and letting go of their hands. They saw him shove his hands in his pockets, looking indifferent and dissatisfied. They couldn't help but laugh as Alfred reached his arms around the petite man's skinny shoulders, his amazingly large muscles resting on him and almost crushing him, had it not been for the Frog's arm around his waist and holding him up. They both smiled at eachother as the feminine body in their arms moved to press the elevator number to the meeting room. They noticed the strange limp England had, but if they had only known, they would have fixed it sooner. If only was too late now, though.

***

After the meeting, Arthur packed his case, as did all the other nations. Everyone left, leaving the trio alone. By now it was too late. Alfred and Francis had noticed how much paler Arthur was, but only now did they notice the red seeping through his clothes and coming down his forehead. Arthur fell, his bandages soaked through and bleeding into a coma. Alfred and Francis noticed the blood and rushed him to the hospital, but it was all too late.

_**FOR MORE, REQUEST PART 2~!**_


End file.
